


#IKIGAI

by CONJUNES



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Almost Everyone - Freeform, Alternate Timelines, Angst, Character Death, Death, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drowning, Drug Use, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, most of it happens on the present but some stuff happens in the late 1500s 1940s and 1980s, some past relationships references too, won't have much romance but will talk a lot about love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CONJUNES/pseuds/CONJUNES
Summary: few things you need to know about immortality, by kim hanbin: it sucksau where hanbin got cursed with immortality because he was lovesick and made one very bad decision. heavy on the angst.
Relationships: Goo Junhoe/Kim Hanbin | B.I, Jung Chanwoo/Kim Donghyuk, Jung Chanwoo/Kim Hanbin | B.I, Kim Donghyuk/Kim Hanbin | B.I, Kim Donghyuk/Kim Jiwon | Bobby, Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jinhwan, Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jiwon | Bobby, Kim Hanbin | B.I/Song Yunhyeong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. PART ONE: ANOTHER  DAY OF IMMORTALITY IS ONE DAY CLOSER TO MORTALITY

**Author's Note:**

> hi, reposting this because there were a few mistakes in the original work and i wanted to add more stuff. if you were one of the few people who read it, you can skip it because i didn't change too much. my writing is (still) a little rustic, so it's not my best. enjoy it : )

“ _Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”_

— **Anaïs Nin**

_“Hanbin, you have to leave”_

_Hanbin knew that voice. Where was he? The room was completely dark, but he knew someone else was there too. A knot on his throat began to form - do not cry, not right now. You shouldn’t cry, there’s no use to it. It was your own choice, wasn’t it? Did you forget? What about the other you’ve hurt? How selfish could you be? Didn’t you think this through, like you always do? Too many tears, he couldn’t breathe. Hanbin heard a sound similar to someone dragging something. A very tall figure was on top of him. Loud voices in the distance. Was Hanbin seeing this or was he the one experiencing this? He could see himself but he also felt so much pain. The figure started to glow, bright as the sun, but Hanbin only felt cold, the tip of his toes curled in pain. He was laying on the ground, dirt. His chest was hollow - was he dying?_

**_God, I can’t breathe_ **

_He tried closing his eyes but the figure was still there, on top of him. They started talking - it was Hanbin’s voice. “You did this to yourself. Let them know you did it.”_

**_I can’t move_ **

_A woman let out a screech that seemed to pierce through his brain. He felt as if the floor under him started to swallow him to the darkness again. Not again. Hold your breath, Hanbin._

_Count to 7 if you’re feeling empty, he said._

**_One_ **

_Hanbin was in his room now - but which one? Madrid? Seoul? Tokyo? Someone grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him closer. A cold hand. A corpse. He saw the ring._

**_Two_ **

_He saw himself murdering a man with a knife. Warmth. It felt good._

**_Three_ **

_Hanbin met someone. They laughed. Warmth again._

**_Four_ **

_Drowned himself on a frozen lake. Only cold._

**_Five_ **

_The sound of letters being ripped apart. Tears smudged the ink. There were not enough w_ _ords anyway, and there will never be._

_How can someone love him, after everything he did?_

**_Six_ **

_A warm hand on his back. He couldn’t stop crying._

**_Seven_ **

_“Find it in you.”_

But how can I search for something that I’ve never felt? 

Hanbin opened his eyes to find himself in his bedroom, windows foggy from the temperature difference between his room and the harsh winter. A single tear fell from his right eye, but he had no interest or desire in crying. His chest moved up and down, still shaken from the nightmare he just had, as he realized there was another day ahead of him. Hanbin’s limbs shivered with the early winter arrival, or maybe it was the fear; nightmares didn’t bother him as much anymore, but the leftover anxiety was always present. He could feel the emptiness where his heart should be, even though the organ itself was still there, barely beating. Hanbin moved his hand closer to his chest, telling his heart to calm down. He wanted to say “ _it’s okay, you’re safe_ ”, but he saved his lies for people other than him. “Count to seven if you’re feeling empty”, so he did.

Some days were worse than others. He got used to it, or at least that’s what he tried to think. He had enough time to learn about himself and to know when things got _too bad_ again. As he reached for his phone on the bedside table to find out what time it was, Hanbin was met with a blinding light coming from the device, reminding him how much he hated electronics. 

**_05:34 am_ **

The sun would take some time to rise, so he allowed himself to sink into the bed for a few more hours. _What day was it?_ A Friday, maybe. It was hard to keep track of time when every day feels the same, the same routine and undying habits, all alone in that apartment. Hanbin tried to fill his thoughts with mundane worries - _did I buy enough milk? Maybe I should do the laundry today. Should I get a pet? I want to watch that Netflix show._ But pretending that you're living a real-life is tiring. It was pointless. As the exhaustion of thinking eventually won him over, he let out a heavy sigh and let himself drift to sleep again. _Another day of immortality is one day closer to mortality._

**_08:12 am_ **

8 more minutes and he wouldn’t be allowed in class - again, but at this point, Hanbin knew this was a silent game of “ _how much can I piss you off_ ” between him and every teacher he had, and Hanbin always won. A gentle but freezing breeze passed him, reminding him that winter had just begun when he felt his phone vibrate on his jeans.

Kim Donghyuk: _where are u_

Kim Donghyuk: _class is full_

_I’m outside._

Kim Donghyuk: _ok??? then come inside???_

_I will in a few minutes._

Kim Donghyuk: _can u just come omg teacher is already pissed u know how he hates people being late_

_I know. Which is why I’m outside._

_Turn off your phone. Class will start soon._

Kim Donghyuk: _boomer_

Hanbin had no idea what ‘boomer’ implied but made it a mental note to ask Donghyuk later, and hopefully, he wouldn’t have to listen to Donghyuk whine about ‘ _why is my name saved like that_ ’ for the tenth time in the month. He liked spending time with Donghyuk because their encounters were spent on mundane things. Groceries, laundry, cleaning, studying, college life overall. Hanbin felt lonely most of the time, and so did Donghyuk. Perfect match. He smiled at the thought, putting his phone back into his jeans.

Without much worry, he took a cigarette from the pack sitting in his coat’s pocket, placing it between his lips, and started searching for his box of matches inside his backpack. Two girls passed in front of him, visibly interested in making their presence known by him, sharing giggles as a form of flirting. Maybe they had one or two classes together, he thought to himself. After fiddling with the contents of his backpack, he grabbed the tiny wooden box and gently shook it, taking one match. Fighting his way against the winter breeze, he managed to light the cigarette and take his first well-deserved drag. Smoking was a habit he tried to avoid as much as possible – not that it really makes a difference what unhealthy habits he picks up – but dealing with the smell was burdensome. No one likes smokers, doesn’t matter how cool they look.

He always sat in his usual place of choice: right in front of the biggest oak tree on campus. There was a time where Hanbin tried to fill his life with different routines and unexpected events, but after a while, it all started to feel identical one way or another. So, for him, there was some sort of comfort by sitting on the same bench every day and watching the small changes around the environment; bird nests slowly being built during spring, which student used the tree as a parking spot for their bikes, sometimes – if he was lucky enough- he would even spot a squirrel running around.

Taking another drag, Hanbin started to feel the numbness that came with the nicotine, his body getting heavier with each puff - lucky him that drugs still had effects on immortals. His eyes were slightly dozing off again, this time fixed on a single branch at the top of the oak tree, where a small bird was resting. A dollar bird, he noted. As he changed the cigarette from his right hand to the left, Hanbin looked inside his backpack for his camera. 

Photography was something he treasured a lot, even though he ended up getting rid of most pictures he took. He enjoyed compiling them in a small amount and just leaving them somewhere so a stranger could pick them up and wonder who left them there. It was his way of saying “ _Kim Hanbin was here, I still exist._ ”

He adjusted the camera on his hand, trying hard to get the blue-ish creature on focus, and right as he clicked-

_“ Sorry!”_

Hanbin exhaled deeply as he closed his eyes, using his centuries of age not to lose his patience. Glancing over to the rushing figure slowly disappearing over the distance, all he managed to see was a weird-looking guy with purple hair, running with his bike, clearly late for some class. _Humans always hurry_ , he thought. With the cigarette resting between his index and middle finger, he noticed a white speck on his hand, just before it melted. Snow.

People often said that if you made a wish on the first day of snow, it would come true. Hanbin made the same wish over 100 times, yet none of them were heard. He _really_ wanted to die.


	2. PART TWO – TO LOVE IS TO SEE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for suicide at the end of the chapter. it's kinda bad so please do not read if you feel uncomfortable with suicide mentions/thoughts. i didn't read proof this one so my writing habits will probably be visible

“ _From which stars have we fallen to meet each other here?”_

— **Friedrich Nietzsche to Lou Salomé**

**FRIDAY, 23:38 // 1989, NYC**

The taste of alcohol has only gotten worse since the XVI century, Hanbin thought as he sipped on the purple-ish drink in front of him. After a few decades, he stopped caring about what harmful substances could do to his immortal self; after all, there was no point in proving to himself that he could ‘manage’ immortality without getting fucked up. 

Once he understood that he was, in fact, immortal, at first he didn’t think much of it. How bad could it be? Perhaps a little boring, but not _that_ bad. Until the weird looks began to be thrown at him around the village, the rumors, and whispers whenever he passed by. Until the funerals came, and until he was alone. Lonely too, but being alone was the worst part. You can cure loneliness by getting wasted in whatever toxin of the decade you have access to and fucking someone until you forget your name, but you can’t do anything about the empty bed the next morning. Or the next week, month, year, decade, and soon enough, century. There’s no way to cure eternal desolation. 

“Tough day?”

The music was so loud - something Hanbin hadn’t gotten used to yet, to the point where he barely noticed the stranger was talking to him. Hanbin wasn’t bothered enough to look, so he just hummed as an answer as his gaze was still fixed on the purple drink in front of him. He knew it was a crowded night - first Friday after payday, in the middle of NYC. Hanbin questioned his own decision of leaving his apartment; he hated crowded places, hot places, and loud places. The club he was in was all three at the same time. 

“...M’kay, guess I’ll leave,” the man said turning around before Hanbin could take a look at him. He wasn’t at a gay bar - even though they were starting to be fairly more common in the city -, but with a few centuries of experience in his pocket, Hanbin knew how flirting looked like from afar. A tired sigh left his mouth before he finished his drink and paid for his bill, lending $5 to the bartender. 

It’s not that Hanbin wasn’t interested. That’s exactly the reason why he went to bars, concerts, clubs, and any place where he could meet new people. The more social you are, the more likely you are to meet your true love so they can break your centuries-long curse of immortality. Right? Sounds almost comical as it is.

But he was tired. Hell, more than four centuries of running around the world in search of his true love, and yet he ended up in a smelly club in the middle of NYC with, perhaps, only 10 dollars left and 3g of weed in his jacket. _Today is one of those days_ , he thought, while trying to make his way through the mass of bodies on the dancefloor. Different perfumes mixed with the odor of sweat and cigarettes surely weren’t his favorite, especially with an excess of noise filling his ears, which made him wish even more to leave that place. 

The neon sign above the exit door provided a pinch of hope for Hanbin, as the cold fresh air hit his face and proved that, indeed, it was one of those days. He needed silence, calmness, and a peaceful smoking session to destress. 

Sadly, he wasn’t the only one.

To much of Hanbin’s disapproval, another person was already occupying the dark alley, trying to escape the frenzy lights and flocks of drunk people. Hanbin pretended not to pay too much attention as he moved towards the corner, resting his back on the wall. Leaving and going home was an option – and, to be honest, much more comfortable than smoking on your feet; but noticing that the stranger also happened to be smoking gave Hanbin a bit of encouragement to stay a few more minutes. 

The man was, without a doubt, handsome – to say the least. Wearing a light-washed pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, his clothes seemed fairly plain, but his features were sculpted in a way that he looked almost godlike. His dark hair was tied to the back of his head in a small ponytail, a few strands escaping in the front. By the way his legs were poking out, he was probably tall too. Furred strong eyebrows seemed to be concentrated on something that Hanbin couldn’t see, but he noted how beautifully his fingers worked. Musician, probably. He was the type of person you’d stare at while you’re in the subway if that makes sense.

Their eyes met for a split second when he noticed someone interrupting his – now shared – smoking session, and Hanbin could’ve sworn he saw the stranger open a huge smile, almost satisfying himself with the sight of Hanbin arriving.

“What?” He asked, in English, the alcohol making his voice sound slightly more annoyed than he intended to. Hanbin wasn’t much into violence - he was, at some point, but gave up after realizing that being immortal doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain when you get beaten up. 

“すみません、日本人ですか？” The other asked, his voice somehow familiar to Hanbin’s ears.

“Korea,” Hanbin answered mindlessly in his native tongue, sounding almost foreign to himself, as he took something from his pocket. The man was concentrating on rolling his joint with the poor light provided by the lampost, his lean fingers carefully spreading the ground greens into the paper. 

“But you understand Japanese? _Fancy_.” Surprised with the sudden familiar language, Hanbin shot the stranger a curious look, gaining interest. 

“And you can pass as a native too.”

“Been touring there for a few years now,” he shyly answered, moving his gaze to the other side of the alley, where the avenue was filled with flashing lights from the cars and people walking left and right, enjoying their Friday evening. The man licked the paper in his hands, rolled it a bit more then placed it in his mouth, wearing a smile. - Tough day?

_Oh_ , Hanbin thought. _The same guy from before_.

“Uh, sorry about that,” he tried to mumble without making eye contact. If he knew that person was _this_ hot, he might’ve paid more attention. Just in case.

“All good,” he took a box of matches from his pocket, used it, then threw the burnt match to the side. “I’m Junhoe,” he said while taking a drag, and Hanbin could've sworn the man was flirting again.

“Kim,” Hanbin said, this time he was the one sitting down, “just Kim.”

“Okay,” Junhoe let out a small laugh, almost poking fun at Hanbin, then continued, “you alone in there? Got no pussy?”

He was definitely flirting.

“Just wanted to go out,” Hanbin smiled, shifting his body to face Junhoe, who was also facing him. “Said you were touring? How come I’ve never seen your face around?”

“I don’t like the States, never did. But the songs are cool and it pays well, better than Korea at least.” Junhoe noted that Hanbin was about to roll one for himself, so he got up and offered his. Hanbin pondered if he should continue the conversation or not, but ended up accepting it. The two of them stood in silence while smoking, Junhoe scanning him from head to toe. Loose high-waisted beige pants, a white shirt, and a dark blue cardigan. Hanbin also wore white shoes, Converse. He didn’t plan on clubbing at all. No one goes clubbing with cardigans. “You’re weird. Hope you know that.”

“I guess.”

Another vague answer. The joint was nearly finished, and Junhoe’s skin looked amazing under the dim yellow light. 

“Wanna go get a drink? It’s early and it’s my day off.”

Hanbin scanned the man from head to toe, unsure of what he meant. Actually, he did know what Junhoe mean, he just wasn’t sure of what type of person he was. Yet.

“We are in a club,” the oldest said.

“We are _outside_ a club because it’s shit in there. C’mon I saw a place selling soju near my hotel. I pay.” Junhoe lent a hand so Hanbin could propel himself up, the warmth and strong grip of his hand sending a shiver down Hanbin’s spine. Junhoe giggled to himself, eyes glued to Hanbin's Converse. “You seem lonely.”

“And it’s not just me.”

  
  


“All I’m saying is that Queen is better than the Rolling Stones,” Hanbin said, grabbing two bottles of soju from the shelf, “and people need to admit it.”

He was, to say the least, high. He could barely remember why they got into the Queen versus Rolling Stones debate, but all he knew was that he was _right_.

“I agree.” Junhoe already had four bottles pressed in between his left arm and his body, using the free hand to grab some CupNoodles. “What else do you like? Besides being a Queen groupie?”

“Well,” Hanbin said with a smile on his face, moving to the cashier and placing the bottles down. “I like a lot of things.”

“Sharing no info, I see.” Junhoe sighed as they finished paying for their goods, lending the cashier a sympathetic smile for working the night shift on a Friday. As they left the store, somehow the busy streets felt even more exciting than before, and Hanbin could've sworn he saw Junhoe staring at his mouth. “ _CIA_ ? _NASA_?”

“Oh please,” Hanbin laughed out loud, something rare these days, while Junhoe led the way to his hotel. Either a tryhard or genuinely funny, Junhoe was conquering Hanbin by every little sentence he let out. “Fine. Be more specific and I’ll answer.”

“What are you doing in New York?”

He thought for a second what the best answer would be, since none would be fitting. “Studying. You?”

“Performing, staying a couple of days.” They had reached the hotel, and it was much simpler than what Hanbin would’ve imagined. A single-sided door was opened, leading to a small room lit with a faint green light. On the left corner, two armchairs rested on each side of the wall, a vending machine, and an ice machine in the middle. Even the floors seemed grimy, a mixture of white and beige square tiles that looked even dirtier under the green light. Junhoe greeted the man that sat behind the desk, half-awake, as they went up the small staircase. Three floors in, Junhoe noted Hanbin’s breath becoming louder with each step, which made him giggle and let out a ' _we are here'_ before the other could protest. 

There were, overall, three types of hotel rooms in the world. The luxury ones (exactly, if not better, like the movies), the mediocre ones, and the hotel rooms that were not supposed to be labeled as such. Junhoe’s room was the latter.

If anything, Junhoe got lucky to find a hotel room almost next to the venue he would play in. Money didn’t come easy for a self-produced artist in the late 80s, especially a foreign one, so he was content enough to find out his double-bed room had, at least, one window and a bathroom. Clean sheets, a minifridge, or privacy amongst the thin walls were trivial matters, he thought to himself upon his arrival. But now, bringing a stranger into his lair, Junhoe couldn’t help but stare at the sole of his shoes, worn-out black boots would even pass as new if compared to that place. 

“It’s not much,” he paused after Hanbin put the paper bag on the tiny metal table next to the door, eyes still glued on the floor, “you can sit on the bed. It’s more comfortable.”

Hanbin, on the other hand, couldn’t care less - he had been through way worse, and after a few centuries of running from place to place without really laying low, comfort wasn’t related to fluffy pillows or marble floors. He had the please of tasting both luxury and misery, both left the same aftertaste in his mouth. So, to him, sitting on the floor getting high and drinking beer was not too bad if compared to an extravagant night in Paris.

“It’s okay,” Hanbin rested his back against the bed frame, legs stretched, letting his head fall back into the mattress with both eyes closed. Coyly closing the door behind him, Junhoe suddenly felt poor, in the rawest form the word could have. Not because of the room’s poor condition or anything of the sort, but Hanbin had an aura of seeing too much of both sides, which made Junhoe feel inferior as if he had nothing to offer. He craved the need of being worth Hanbin’s time, purely because Hanbin was mysterious - good looking too, but ultimately, mysterious. 

Nonetheless, the two strangers made an interesting duo, the type of people click right away. Mindlessly making small talk, yet, it felt comfortable. Hanbin had nowhere else to be - as well as plenty of time -, while Junhoe was so absorbed by that cryptic man wearing Converse that they didn’t even realize the clock marked almost 1 AM and they had finished all the beer they had bought. 

“Do you believe in magic?” Hanbin asked, still in the same position as before, except that Junhoe took a seat next to him. He couldn't remember when he did it, but Junhoe's cologne was the middle point between smelly and addictive.

“Well, I believe in mushrooms and funny teas,” he lit up the tip of another blunt, eyes still fixed on Hanbin. “Why?”

“I have a crazy story, but you need to promise you won’t laugh.”

“I can’t promise that. Life is funny as it is.”

Hanbin kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, watching how the vehicle's lights ran through it, one after the other. He was drunk as hell and would probably get high again in a few minutes, and yet, he felt the need to share his story with Junhoe for some reason. They would never meet again, and even if they did, Hanbin could say he was drunk anyway. 

“So, a few centuries ago, there was a young couple. They fell in love by accident,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “and it was somehow prohibited.”

“Hm, sounds normal until now.”

_One of them was an artist from a wealthy family, and he was promised to marry a woman in the summer of the following year. However, he was so in love that all he could think about was his lover, to the point where everything he made had his lover’s features in it. At some point, they decided to get married and run away from their families to another village to begin a new life. The two of them shared their vows under a full moon, each one of them exchanged a golden ring with a small emerald piece carved into it._

_But then, something tragic happened. Knowing about the couple’s plans, both families tried to intervene in their escape, which ended up causing the artist’s death. The lover wept, sobbed, cried until there was no one left in the room, and even begged for death to take the two of them together so that they could at least be one in the afterlife._

_Almost as a miracle, a blinding light emerged from the pitch-dark room, bringing enough warmth to make anyone feel at ease. A guardian angel, right there, brought a message. The angel could bring the artist back to life, but there was a price to be paid. Unless the lover found their true love, immortality would curse them for eternity, as the lover traded life for love._

_Blinded by what seemed to be true love, the lover accepted it blindly, convinced that their true love was already in the room._

_After a few years, they noticed something strange was happening. The artist didn’t know about the curse - of course, how would the lover explain such a thing, but each year they spent together, one would get white hairs while the other kept a glow to their skin. One would feel back pains, while the other still had lean, strong muscles. And just like so, the lover understood. He traded his own life for a love he thought he owned, but it was never his, to begin with. Destiny plays tricks on your mind, and you can’t decide who is going to love you the way you need to be loved. You can’t place butterflies on someone’s stomach and you can’t revive the skipping beats of a heart that isn’t yours. You can’t choose if someone will love you during life or death, yet we like to think we can so humans assume other humans’ feelings, and call it a relationship._

_There were no words, no songs, no paintings that could ever explain what he felt. He had fooled himself, thinking he was lovable enough. That he was loved._

_And so, the lover spent centuries looking for a true love, or whatever could come close to what he imagined true love would be like. Days and nights awoke, overthinking his gestures, words, looks, but he failed to understand that there was still something missing. He just couldn’t pinpoint what. So, after a few decades, he gave up, and until this day, the lover still roams around the world, lonely, looking for a way to escape the curse he caused on himself._

“And that’s the story,” Hanbin’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling above him, but he had no interest in it. All he could see while telling the story was his own memories, emptying his chest with every word he poured down in that room, almost as if he was trying to give himself an answer. Only when Junhoe sniffed next to him that Hanbin realized they were both silently crying.

“Shit dude, that was… fun. Not funny, but fun.”

 _Fun_ , yeah. In a way.

“I guess,” Hanbin let out another vague answer, because to some extent he agreed with Junhoe. There’s always a comedic part to suffering because sometimes you think _it was so simple_. It was in your face, and yet you didn’t see it. 

The two of them stood in silence for a few minutes, each one in their own world. 

“Are you lonely by choice or accident?”

Junhoe’s question took Hanbin by surprise, as he would’ve expected some fool comment about his story. Felt like Junhoe _knew_.

“Both, I guess,” he vaguely answered, taking another hit of the - now nearly finished - joint. “Not my fault but also I kinda gave up.”

“I see. You seem tired of love.”

Junhoe _knew_.

“Can you read minds or something?”

And Hanbin was relieved that he did.

“I’m just an artist. We know. We _always_ do.”

**MONDAY, 13:02 // 2018, SEOUL**

“Dude, you’re strangling that Subway.”

Chanwoo’s voice seemed to be like the tip of Hanbin’s consciousness, calling him back to reality. His eyes were focused on the wooden table in front of him, vision slowly focusing on the food. “Shit,” he exclaimed, already putting down the sandwich with one hand, grabbing the tiny pieces of lettuce with the other, then eating them. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“Again?” Chanwoo asked with his mouth full while he played on his phone, not really paying attention to him or to Donghyuk sitting next to him.

“Yeah.” Laying back onto his chair, Hanbin sighed loudly, already losing his appetite.

“Don’t get too soggy,” Donghyuk started, “you need to finish your essay today.”

“Hm?” Hanbin was almost slipping from reality again before Chanwoo put his phone down and took something from his backpack, flashing a few pages onto his face. The title read _Antiques of the Renaissance, an essay_ , and had Chanwoo’s credentials below it. “Fuck, is it for tomorrow?”

“I’ll help if I can,” Donghyuk soothed him, placing a warm hand behind his back, almost as if he predicted Hanbin’s despair. “But we need to go, train leaves in 20 minutes.”

On a whim, Hanbin took a big gulp of his coke and took a small bite off of his sandwich, already putting on his coat. Sometimes he enjoyed the rush of mortal life, having deadlines, running from place to place as if he would run out of time. 

“ _Your food!_ ” Chanwoo screamed at the sight of a barely-touched barbecue-flavored Subway and almost a liter of coke left on the table, but it was too late; the duo was already going through the door, walking towards the train station.

  
  


In all aspects, Donghyuk was, to say the least, a prodigy. Excellent grades, fluent in at least three different languages, played the piano, guitar, and the kazoo for some reason; was class president for 5 years in a row, wasn’t a saint nor a troublemaker. Managed to get a full scholarship to eight universities, including international ones, becoming the pride and joy of the family. 

Until he mentioned he was going to study History. 

And the fact that he was online dating a guy, too. 

His mother threw a fit, claiming that her son would go to hell, that he had the chance to be a doctor but threw it away, and that he never loved his family, in that order. Since then, Donghyuk was a part-time bookstore receptionist, earning just enough to pay rent and occasionally buy one pizza or two, and had no contact with any relative or childhood friend. And even though he had some colleagues from his college classes, Donghyuk admitted to Hanbin once that this matter was still sensitive to him. So, for a while, speaking on family members was prohibited between the two, as if they didn’t even exist.

But that was six years ago, and a lot had changed between the two.

Strolling through Seoul in the middle of winter wasn’t their definition of fun times, but having company made it easier for both of them. Donghyuk, who had an obsession with Art History, found it useful to have Hanbin around for his random presentations about, literally, anything history-related. Hanbin, on the other hand, thought Donghyuk was cute and he knew the youngest needed more friends.

Making their way to their seats, the two boys were relieved to see it would be just the two of them in the four seats. Instead of taking one seat in front of the other, Donghyuk sat on the window side while Hanbin preferred the corridor. Trips made him melancholic, especially when you are staring at the window. Without realizing it, they fell into silence, a common thing for them, but the way Hanbin was acting placed itchiness on Donghyuk's chest. 

“I don’t like to mess around with this,” he began, each word feeling like he was stepping on eggshells, “but you’ve been spacing out more lately.”

“I know,” Hanbin let his head rest on Donghyuk’s shoulder, closing his eyes. “I haven’t slept well.”

“Are you taking your meds?” Silence. It was obvious, then. “Fucking again?”

Who could blame him? It was no news - to any of the two - that Hanbin had serious issues, but even though the meds did help to some extent, it felt pointless. There was no answer or treatment to the hollowness living inside Hanbin’s chest, whether he took antidepressants or not. 

“You don’t get it.”

“Of course I don’t,” Donghyuk cursed under his breath, but something about his tone showed that he wasn’t taking it too seriously. But he wasn’t the one to blame for worrying; Donghyuk, out of all people, had first-hand experiences with losing someone that way. He had every right to be concerned. “You come one day and say you’re cursed or some shit, lived for almost five hundred years and need to find true love. How the hell am I supposed to ‘ _get it’_?” 

Hanbin chuckled in response, giving Donghyuk a tired smile. “Sounds funny when you put it like that.”

But Donghyuk did not laugh, and for a couple of minutes, the two of them stood in silence, unsure of whether or not they should continue the conversation. He believed that Hanbin wasn’t totally sane – which was partly true -, and insisted that he would see a therapist if he wanted to keep their friendship. Of course, Hanbin just told him off and asked to be left alone, but both of them were stubborn. The difference is that Donghyuk was a crybaby and Hanbin hated to see people crying, so for two years in a row, Hanbin’s Friday afternoons were occupied.

Donghyuk sat straight in his seat, slightly turning his head towards Hanbin but still not facing him.

“I’m tired of worrying about you,” he whispered in a low tone, more like a confession, suddenly shifting the mood.

“You don’t have to.” 

Hanbin immediately regretted saying those words as he noticed how Donghyuk’s face turned back to the window and how his breathing suddenly shortened as if he was about to cry. Donghyuk didn’t have to be there, but he _wanted_ to, and they both acknowledged that. Even so, Donghyuk couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility for his friend. Hanbin knew that Donghyuk was sensitive to this matter, and he had the right to be. He was mortal, and to some extent, he believed Hanbin was too. He lost someone. He _thought_ he almost lost Hanbin that day. So he worried.

Donghyuk was the first person Hanbin was brave enough to share his story, as in _his_ , during one of their late-night talks in Donghyuk’s dorm room. They had been friends for less than a year; Hanbin had “just” joined the same major as Donghyuk, Art History. Cliché, if you ask me. And of course, Hanbin never expected that he would believe in it – if anything, Donghyuk was a fairly logical person who didn’t believe in the supernatural. But something about the way Hanbin spoke, his behavior, his weird knowledge on pretty much everything, the countless times Donghyuk felt he was somewhere else and not really there, with him, it meant _something_. So Donghyuk decided that, for the time being, Hanbin was insane.

“I just,” Donghyuk’s voice cracked, his eyes still fixed on the window. “I just worry you’ll do something bad to yourself again.”

Hanbin froze in his seat. He wished he could comfort Donghyuk and say “it won’t happen again”, but he made himself a promise that he would never lie to him after that accident. It wasn’t the first, nor the second or third time he had tried to kill himself. He had too many demons on his back, countless reminders that he was unworthy of being loved. The mere thought of being alive was enough to send him into a panic, and he had to live with that every single day for the past five centuries. Believing you were so unworthy of love, unworthy of being desired and taken as a whole so that you would have to face yourself in shame for eternity. _Eternity_. Immortal – for the time being. Being immortal means you’re not alive but you’re not dead either. You can’t die but you can’t live, because those two things are in a cycle – you can’t add or remove anything from it.

Hanbin had tried everything to soothe his mind from destructive thoughts, using drinks and drugs, trying to live off of adrenaline, and being on the edge.

But nothing worked, nothing ever worked. Again and again, every single day, the same thing. Wake up, go out, and maybe find hope in a smile or a double look from a stranger. Get married, see your partner die. They weren’t the one anyway. You still look young, you need to flee again. Pack your bags. Go to a different country, learn a language. Steal if you need. Kill if you need. Whatever it takes. You start to get nightmares from the things you’ve seen and the people you’ve met. All the friends, lovers, people you met along the way; everyone is gone, rotten flesh and pale bones seven feet under the ground. You have no one. For a brief moment when you happen to share the bed with a stranger, even for just a second, you think that maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe they will fall in love with me and I’ll age just like anyone else.

And then, nothing happens.

So you become a prisoner of your own mind because that is where you truly live. Alone, just the memories and worries of an uncertain future; humans have this weird thing where we think about the future more than we think about the now. Then, you worry. You worry about tomorrow’s rent, you worry that your friend will leave you because you had another crisis, you worry that your partner won’t find you as arousing anymore, and you worry about having to bury another loved one. You fear the future and whatever harm it may bring to you because that's all you’ve ever known.

And just like that, death doesn’t seem as bad as it would. Maybe it will work this time. _Maybe I haven’t tried the right way_ , he thought to himself every time he collapsed. If I stay in the water for longer, it will work. If I take different pills, it will work. If I starve myself, it will work. If I use another type of gun, it will work. If I wished a little harder, if I pray a little harder, if I curse a little harder. If I ask for death the same way I asked for life that night, maybe, it will work.

But the only thing Hanbin finds every time he searches for his own death is pure physical pain, to the point where he once got addicted to it because somehow being closer to death made him feel alive. That was until Donghyuk decided to stop by his apartment to drop a few books and _so happened_ to find Hanbin in a puddle of blood almost unconscious inside his bathtub. Hanbin had his eyes barely open and when he understood that, he was in fact still alive, the sight of Donghyuk freaking out in front of him just made him bawl in a way he had never done before.

Too many thoughts were running through his mind at that moment, but the main one was that he had hurt someone for _nothing_. Donghyuk was frantically trying to clean his wounds and bathe him in clear water, telling him amidst shouts to stop moving, but Hanbin knew that in a few days he would be the same as before. No cuts, no blood. He had exposed Donghyuk to such a traumatic event, seeing death so close and yet so far away, sobbing to the point where his whole throat was numb in pain. 

Hanbin tried to ask Donghyuk to leave, tried to ask him to stay outside because _he would be okay_ , but perhaps he felt so tired from trying to be alive and dead at the same time that he just didn’t do anything. He let himself be just slightly egoistic. For once he did not flee, he did not cut laces to avoid pain. He let himself cry like a newborn, wishing for nothing but to be taken care of. To be healed. To have someone, again. Hanbin sat in the bathtub, loudly weeping centuries-old tears that only he could recall from what event those tears were made of. He wept for his lovers, he wept for his family, and he wept for every single soul he met along the way because they were all gone. He wept because Donghyuk, who was right in front of him weeping too, would go before him.

It was in the past, anyway.

Hanbin promised Donghyuk he would take care of himself. Donghyuk promised to call before visiting him. 

Letting out a long sigh, Hanbin fixed his posture on his seat and wrapped his hands around Donghyuk’s arm, as a sign of defeat. “I’ll survive, trust me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote until here but i have the script for the next chapters so hopefully, i won't take 6 months to update like i did last time (i won't promise tho). i'm not on twitter but my cc is still @IKONPHOBE, tumblr is @ikonist. also made a pinterest board because i'm pretentious like that https://www.pinterest.com/conjunes/ikigai/

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it ^-^


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